Change the Channel
by RainbowAnatomy
Summary: "Raccoon Eyes, please change the channel." "I have a name, you know." "I know, but frankly, I don't care. Please change the channel." (Or, how Steve recruited Clint and brought him out of retirement. Set during Civil War.)


**Change the Channel**

 **AN:** This idea came to be randomly while I was eating dinner. I kind of just had to get it out of my head, and I thought it was kind of funny. Enjoy.

 **Disclaimer: If I owned it, you'd know it.**

"Raccoon Eyes, please change the channel," Sam Wilson requested absentmindedly, fiddling with his 'Falcon' suit in his lap and the screwdriver in his hands, leaning against the headrest of the bed he was sitting on. Those who had thus far chosen not to sign the Accords, playfully named 'Team Captain America', were sitting in a hotel room, trying to make do with the tools they had on hand to make minor adjustments to their suits and weapons. Steve Rogers was in the shower after making Sam swear he would not murder the other man who was sprawled on the other beds, metal hand inches away from the remote. On the TV was a year old Soccer game that neither of them were watching. The constant crowds cheering had started to distract Sam twenty minutes ago, but had let it drive him insane before finally talking to the other man.

"I have a name, you know," 'Raccoon Eyes' retorted.

"I know, but frankly, I don't care. Please change the channel."

"Do it yourself, I'm not the one who has a problem with what's on.

"You're the one with the remote, Raccoon Eyes."

The next thing he knew, the remote had been launched into the side of his head. It hit him with a dull thump and took him a second to register the pain that shot through his skull. The remote buried into the furrows of the blanket.

"Now you're the one with the remote." The other man was smirking at Sam, a 'what are you going to do about it?' look violent in his eyes. Sam calmly put down the screwdriver and his suit. The announcer shouted the score, the crowed roared, and at the sound, he flung himself across the gap between the beds, feeling the remote dig into his foot as he threw himself against the unexpected victim.

Once 'Raccoon Eyes' got over the shock of Sam pummeling him in the face, he tossed him aside with his metal arm. Sam went flailing across the room, crashing into a freshly showered Steve.

"All right, that's it!" Sam shouted, getting to his feet, ready to punch him again. Steve caught his arm, Super Soldier strength easily restraining his friend.

"What's going on?" Steve asked, voice a stern fatherly one, "Sam? Bucky?"

"I don't understand, Rogers! I ask your friend, very nicely, to change the channel, because he was the one with the remote, and what does he do? The shithead throws the remote at my head! I was only defending myself!" Sam shouted, trying to take another swing, only to have Steve's hand tighten.

"You also called me 'Raccoon Eyes'," Bucky spat, eyes narrowing.

"Well, who could help themselves when you used to run around wearing so much black eyeshadow around your face?" Sam hurled back.

"That was not my choice and you damn well know that!" Bucky stood up, clenching and unclenching his fists.

"All right! That's enough, both of you! Just change the godda-" Steve's voice broke off as he noticed the channel the TV was now on. Rather, he noticed the man on the screen, letting go of Sam.

"Holy shit," Sam swore, fight leaving his body as he clamped a hand over his mouth to hold back a laugh.

"Is that…?" Steve asked.

"Rogers, who is that?" Bucky asked, confused at the sudden change in the room.

"Thats-" he started.

"-Clint Barton," Sam finished, breaking into a fit of laughter.

In his misfired attack on Bucky, Sam had changed the channel to the Food Network. And on the screen was their retired teammate, Clint Barton. In a kitchen. Cooking. He was grinning at the screen periodically, explaining each step he was going through.

"-Of course, I was taught by someone very special to me that the extra vanilla and chocolate chunks makes the cookies taste more indulgent," Clint explained to the viewers.

Bucky looked mildly intrigued. How long had it been since he had homemade cookies? Sam, on the other hand, was besides himself.

"Ok, ok," he choked when he paused in his laughing fit, "I don't care that Stark is after our asses. I have to tell everyone about this!"

"While we wait for them to bake at 325 degrees for 12 minutes until they're golden brown, I'll take some of your calls," Clint said on the screen as the camera panned to the telephone, "The number is on the screen now."

"Shit, someone get their phone!" Sam howled.

"Way ahead of you, Wilson," Steve responded. Bucky was scrolling through his own phone, secretly looking up Clint Barton's show's website to find the cookie recipe.

On screen, the phone rang. Clint picked up, looking quite pleased at such a fast call. Sam pulled out his phone to film the conversation.

"Hello, viewer, who am I talking to?" Clint asked.

"My name is Steve Rogers and I am a huge fan of your work," Steve responded, smirking at the screen. His call was being played on the show as well. Clint's face went red and he looked into the camera.

"Oh. Thank you, um. Mr. Rogers," came his shaky voice both through Steve's phone and on the TV, "What's your question?"

"I'm just wondering if there's any way to make these cookies crisper."

"That's a… jeez, that's a real question. Um. Yes, you can reduce the amount of flour and sugar used in the recipe. That would crisp them up considerably."

"Thanks so much, Clint!"

"Of course, Mr. Rogers." Clint was still staring into the camera. Before the line went dead, Sam's laugh roared into the sound as he collapsed back onto the bed, ending the recording.

When the show went to commercial thirty laughter filled, recipe searching seconds later, Steve's cellphone rang again.

"How the hell did you find my show, Rogers?" Clint's voice came.

"Careful, Barton, you're blushing again," Steve teased, chuckling.

"Oh my god, is that him? Can I say something?" Sam shouted, grabbing for Steve's cellphone. Steve shoved him aside. Clint heard a small scuffle break out.

"Can I remind you that my commercial break ends in sixty-seven seconds? So whatever you have to say, Rogers, spit it out!" Clint grumbled.

"Right," Steve agreed, sitting on Sam's back to keep him from trying to grab his phone, taking a deep breath, "Long story short, Tony's trying to bring the Avengers under the control of the government. There's an Accord and over one hundred countries have signed. Tony, Rhodey, T'Challa, Vision, and Natasha have already agreed to them. Wanda has yet to decide what she's doing, she's still torn up about Lagos, and I'm sure you've heard about that. Right now it's just me, Wilson, and Bucky. I know you don't like him, but please, Barton, I know Natasha has sided with Tony, and you're just now hearing about this, but if you agree with me, I need you on my team." The words tumbled out, leaving Steve breathless.

"How do you expect me to make this decision in thirty-eight seconds, Steve?" Clint asked, voice flat.

"Look, Barton, I get you're so called retired from avenging, but I need your help. I wouldn't ask if I didn't think this was important." Steve sighed. Sam had quit fighting and was listening intently. Bucky looked up from his phone, hearing the defeat in his best friend's voice.

Steve heard Clint sigh, then someone shout, "Twenty seconds and counting."

"Ok," Clint whispered.

"That's a yes, Barton?"

"Yes, Rogers, it's a yes. Can we discuss the rest later? I have to go," before the line went dead.

Steve dropped his phone and nodded encouragingly to Bucky and Sam. On the screen, Clint's title was flashing, before fading away to reveal Clint standing there, taking cookies out of the oven. His face seemed composed, but after all the fights he had beside the archer, he could tell he was upset, angry, and confused. Steve felt a smile stretch across his face at the addition to his team. He would have him convince Wanda to join, along with Scott Lang, who, when called, agreed with a string if awe struck complements. He may just have a fighting chance at this… Civil War.

"Welcome back, viewers. The cookies are finally ready-" Clint was saying on the screen. Sam's voice, choked from being sat on for so long, shouted over him,

"Oh hell naw, it has not been 12 minutes, how can they be done already?"

"You clearly have no concept on how cooking shows work, Bird Man," Bucky chuckled.

"Oh and you do, Raccoon Eyes? The Winter Soldier had lots of time to watch Chopped and Food Network Star in his spare time?"

"Knock it off, guys," Steve chided.

"Fine. But Steve?"

"Yeah, Wilson?"

"Get off me!"

"Oh." He stood up. Laughing, Steve apologized, "Sorry about that, buddy."

Sam sucked in a dramatic breath, only to find Bucky collapse on him, making both him and Steve laugh louder. After a moment of anger, Sam rolled his eyes and relented to the laughter.


End file.
